


Forgive me what I've done.

by Heyashes



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst angst angst angst, Hints of Thominho but more like platonic stuff, M/M, Minho & Thomas - Freeform, Past Character Death, Past Minewt, Post-The Death Cure, SPOILERS FROM THE DEATH CURE, Thomas finally confesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 07:16:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2642939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heyashes/pseuds/Heyashes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas knows what he's done, and he's promised himself that he would never let Minho know.</p>
<p>Until now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgive me what I've done.

It had been months since everything had ended.  
Four, to be exact. Four months during which life had been easy, almost  _too easy_ on them.  
Thomas wasn't used to have time to sit around and  _think_ , let alone  _relax_.

It all felt quite surreal.

He still happened to wake up screaming his lungs out in the middle of the night, after dreaming of grievers, of metal balls ripping people's heads off, of cranks dying to have  a taste of his flesh. After dreaming of Chuck, of Teresa, dying to save him.

_After dreaming of Newt._

He woke up screaming and shaking and crying, sometimes even calling after a mother he felt like he had never even known, and the tiny hut he shared with Minho always felt way too small to contain all that horror, all that pain that made him feel like he was about to explode and drown at the same time.

During nights like that Minho would just yawn as he got up from his bed and crawl under the covers next to Thomas. Most nights they wouldn't talk or even touch: they would just lay next to each other, pressed against one another from shoulder to calve wondering if they were ever going to be able to sleep again, ever again.

Some nights they would talk.  
Never about the past, never about the friends they lost. It was easier to discuss the weather, or the fact that they needed a bigger hut.

Some nights they would kiss.  
And that was what made Thomas feel sick: how could he dare to kiss the same lips that used to be kissed by the same boy he'd shot in the head only four months before?

But neither of them wanted to feel alone. And that was that.

 

*******

 

 

The sun was shining, warming up Thomas' skin as he and Minho sat on a large piece of rock, looking down at the ocean and throwing small pebbles in the clear water.   
He ran a hand through his hair a bit greasy from the salty air and looked to the right: Minho was laying down on the bright white rock, his shirt waiting for him back at the hut.   
His eyes were closed as he enjoyed the warm yet not  _suffocating_ June sun just like Thomas was, but then he suddenly sat up and stared at the endless mass of water in front of them.

He didn't talk for a long time, just watched the waves roll towards the cliff and crash against it.

Thomas wouldn't have been able to see it coming even if he tried.

 

"He would've liked this," 

Minho's voice was quiet, almost like he'd been talking to himself rather than to his friend, but then Thomas saw him gesture weakly towards the water, and he immediately knew who he was talking about.

He knew that the dark haired boy was right: Newt would've loved the ocean. He probably would've challenged them to jump off the cliff for a swim, too.

 

Now it was Thomas' time to not speak: the lump in his throat at the memory of Newt's bewildered eyes, of the cuts an bruises on his pale skin, of how tired and  _scared_ his voice sounded when he begged him to  _please_ kill him before it was too late, at the memory of Minho's silent tears the night that he left him in that sort of damn madhouse, was too much to cope with. He just couldn't ignore it, but he couldn't do anything to make it go away either.

But sometimes, just like he couldn't stop his head from spinning, Thomas couldn't stop his word vomits.

 

" _I killed him_."

 

And the whole world stoppped spinning. The waves stopped rolling, the wind stopped blowing and the sun started to  _burn_ on his overheated skin. He watched as Minho froze, then slowly turned around to look at him.

"What do you mean you killed him?" He asked. Calm, almost jaded. " _Who_ did you kill?"

Thomas swallowed, feeling droplets of sweat starting to run down his temples and the back of his neck. He knew that he could just lie, force himself to put up a scene where he blamed himself for Chuck's death. It was something he did every single day anyway. But he just couldn't lie to Minho. Not anymore: he was the only one he had left.

"Newt," He breathed, then tried to swallow the thick lump in te back of his throat. "I killed him.  Shot him in the head. He asked me to...  _begged_ me to. I... I couldn't say no," He continued, his voice weaker and weaker as he went on. "I'm sorry, Minho."

No one said a word for the following five minutes, which felt way longer than they really were to Thomas. He kept sweating, and his heart felt like it was going to jump out of his chest any second. Minho's jaw was clenched as well as his fists, and he was starting to scare Thomas quite a bit. Not that he was expecting a smile and a pat on the back, but still. 

"He could've asked me."  
Minho wasn't looking at him, and Thomas couldn't tell if he wished to meet his friend's eyes or not.

Thomas sighed, ran a hand on his face to stop the sweat from getting into his eyes. "You know you would've never done it," He murmured, wrapping his arms around his knees that he had just drawn to his chest. "And so did he."

 

The next thing Thomas knew was that he was no longer sitting on the warm stone but laying on the sandy ground, with Minho on top of him and the boy's forearm pressed firmly against his throat.

"You think you know everything, don't you Thomas?" Minho spat through gritted teeth, looking him straight in the eyes. "You think you always have the bloody situation under control, right? Well let me tell you this," He hissed adding more pressure on Thomas' neck. "You don't know one shucking thing. Not about me, not about him."

Thomas hated how Minho had stopped saying Newt's name out loud after they left him in Denver, half crazy but at least alive. He'd figured it was probably because not pronouncing a name out loud makes the thing less real.

"I... I don't-" He croaked, trying to force his lungs to expand and bring oxygen to his body even tho his throat was pretty much blocked.

He didn't even see the Minho's closed fist rise right before the first punch hit him square in the jaw. He let out a pathetic groan, istinctively moving his arm to press his hand against his cheek where he'd been hit, but his hand were stuck between his thighs and Minho's knees, and there was no way he was going to be able to free even one of them.

More punches landed on his face, each one harder than the one before. Thomas heard a loud  _crack_ : that had to be his nose, but his entire face hurt too much to be able to place one single injury. He felt the metallic taste of blood on his tongue, then he felt the thick, sticky liquid tream down his cheek and on his neck.

Yes, definitely his nose.

There was no point in fighting back: he'd never seen Minho that furious. Thomas found himself hoping that Minho would just kill him quickly.

He forced himself to open his eyes and looked up when the punches suddenly turned into weak hits and he heard a choked sound: on top of him, Minho was crying.

And not the silent crying Thomas had grown accostumed to: the other boy was having a full break down. He was trying to talk between the sobs, but Thomas -also due to the loud thump in his ears and all the punches he'd gotten, could barely make out what his friend was slurring.

"I hate you," and "He was the only one I had," and "How could you do this to me?".

And somehow, that hurt even more than the punches and the scratches. Thomas' stomach churned, and he found himself twisting the upper half of his body to the sie to throw up. The vomit mixed with the bood flowing out of the cut on his bottom lip didn't make a good match on the white stone of the cliff.  
He took a couple of seconds before he met Minho's eyes again but when he did, he found something completely different in them. There was no more hate, no more rage.   
Minho just loked terrified.

"God," He dark haired boy choked out throwing himself at Thomas, who tried to not groan when his sore cheek pressed against Minho's shoulder. "Shuck. I could've killed you." His voice was slightly shaky: Thomas had never seen him like that. He let him cling to his shoulders as he kept repeating that he was a monster, that he could've killed him.

"It's ok," He coughed out, his throat so sore that even breathing with his mouth open felt like introducing fire into his being.

"No it's not ok!" Minho shook his head, eyes wide open as he couldn't believe to what he'd just done. "I could've killed you. You're the only friend I have, you've always been there for me... and I could've killed you."

Thomas took a couple of deep breaths, trying to steady his heartbeat and make black dots stop dancing in front of his eyes. Then, for some reason, he found himself smiling. A bitter, pained smile.

 

 

_"You would've done me a favor."_

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, babycakes. I'm so sorry, but I had to.


End file.
